Days of Dust
by Heart of Spellz
Summary: It all starts on a bench. Maybe it isn't special or fantastic, but if you try hard enough, anything's possible.


**Author's Notes: Written for the 2013 RS Games at Livejournal. Title taken from 'I Will Wait' by Mumford & Sons.**

**Prompt number 26: rs-games.l ivejournal 148699. html (remove spaces). Picture of bench surrounded by autumn leaves and trees.**

**Thanks to acidbathory for the beta job!**

* * *

There's a park near the centre of London. As parks go, there's nothing impressively special about it. It's got some trees and a few fountains, and though it's often rainy and a bit chill, people still traipse through it for one reason or another. It isn't the cleanest place in the world, which can be expected in such a big city, but every story must have a beginning and this is the start of ours.

On the outskirts of the park, hidden behind a clump of overgrown trees, rests a bench. It's old; rusted in places on its metal working, the green tint of its bars faded to grey. There's a large faded scrawl of white graffiti stretching across its backrest, a sure sign of a youth's long forgotten presence. The bench doesn't see many visitors now except for the odd person here and there, but if it had a voice, it could tell you stories of days past, filled with romance and heartbreak, friendships and family struggles, misery and wonder. Had it a mouth, it would smile wistfully and sigh in remembrance.

A boy comes round from time to time, no older than nine or ten, and sits on the cool, hard metal of the bench for long stretches of time, silent and watchful of his surroundings. He's got dark hair and eyes the colour of storm clouds over a rough sea, and he grows quickly beneath the trees' vigilant branches as all children do, grown and gone before it seems possible. A sigh of almost relief never fails to escape the boy's lips each time he settles against the unyielding metal.

He sits for hours at a time, sometimes until almost all light has faded beyond the horizon, and watches as the grass shifts in the soft wind, stray leaves and a few pieces of litter dancing in circles around his feet. The toes of his shoes scuff across the ground, stirring up dust. He closes his eyes and turns his face up, letting light filter through the trees' branches and warm his pale skin. He breathes easily, secluded in this secret place, and every visit is catalogued deep inside the bench's metal workings.

A chill slowly creeps into the air around the city, the leaves in the park beginning to change their colour and one by one drop from the branches. On a day such as this, the bench receives a new visitor. He's smaller than the other boy, but roughly the same age. His brown hair glints in the sunlight between the swaying, creaking branches of the trees and he hugs his limbs closely to his body, frail-looking knees supporting a heavy book. His brown eyes dance over the pages, mouth going slack and eyebrows rising at times in wonderment. He's quiet and still, a solid, tranquil force compared to the other boy's whirlwind energy.

One day, the dark-haired boy comes skidding around the clump of trees, panting, and freezes upon spying the new boy curled in a ball on the bench. The boy seated on the bench tenses and looks up at the other and they stare at one another for a long while, neither moving. Finally, as the standing boy's breathing calms, the brown-haired boy shifts his feet across the bench, creating more space. The larger boy's mouth quirks up in a barely-there smile as he rounds the bench and seats himself upon the cold metal. He begins to scuff his shoes through the dirt and the other boy relaxes imperceptibly.

They sit, neither speaking and never touching, two forces of nature circling one another, testing boundaries, gauging atmospheres, but never colliding for fear of exploding. And so it goes.

* * *

Months pass, the trees shedding themselves of their dead leaves to make room for the weight of ice and snow, and slowly the growth of new life appears upon their branches, blossoming into new, greener leaves. People begin to mill about the park once again, a lazy slowness creeping over them in the heat of summer. Sometimes they find the bench and rest a while upon the warmth of its metal, but more often than not they don't. Neither boy has visited their secluded spot in months, until one day they do, and they're together.

They seat themselves on the bench, legs crossed and facing one another, talking as though old friends. Names are mentioned, both common and original, talks of Peter, James, Lily, McGonagall, Dumbledore, Slughorn. They speak of schooling and classes and books and obnoxious classmates. New words are spoken of, such things that have never been uttered around the bench's restful spot; whispers of Quidditch and Slytherins, Transfiguration and wands, giant squids and magic. All of it baffling; all of it fascinating. A shyness is still prevalent between the boys, though their conversations are easy and light-hearted; familiar unfamiliarity.

Weekly and sometimes daily visits are made to the bench. The boys' names are learned and catalogued along with everything else. The summer passes quickly, along with the heat, and as a small chill creeps its way into the air, the boys depart with shouted promises to see one another in a few days, but in a different place; a place with a different bench.

* * *

Winter comes quickly that year, snow falling sooner than usual, laying like a blanket across the city, thick and heavy. Park attendants wander around, clearing the pavements and benches of snow, but the secluded bench in the far corner is forgotten. A kind, middle-aged couple happens by after the first heavy snow and clears the bench's metal of its undisturbed mounds of white, sitting for a time before moving on. The winter sun filters through the naked branches of the overhanging trees and warms the metal the smallest bit, but soon the frost sets in again and another snow falls, leaving the bench cold and frozen and forgotten once again.

Time passes slowly in the winter months, the grey sky hanging low and pregnant with waiting snowfall. The holidays draw near, twinkling lights thrown up around shrubs and light poles, breathless words and drawn-out notes of song falling from passersby chapped, dry lips. Shining, coloured gift bags shimmer in the dull winter light as they dangle from gloved hands. Along with the holidays arrive the two boys, bundled from head to toe in coats, gloves, hats, and scarves (matching; red and gold striped), a blazing spiral of reserved cautiousness and nervous, boundless energy.

'Remus!' shouts the dark-haired boy, the faint hint of laughter tingeing the edges of his voice. He launches himself forward upon seeing the other boy, leaning low and scooping up snow in his arms as he races towards the meek boy, wrapping his snow-filled arms around him tightly.

Remus stiffens at the cold, wet embrace and arches away from his excited friend. 'Sirius – eurgh, it's cold, let go – come on, Sirius, this isn't funny. I missed you, too, but it's only been two days and you're going to cause us both to catch pneumonia.'

Sirius laughs. 'I don't know what that is,' he says, squeezing tighter, tone implying that he isn't concerned.

Remus eventually smiles and gives in, hugging Sirius back, the snow melting between their combined warmth until it's just them, two friends separated for far longer than they like, arms wrapped around one another in their secret place with nothing to watch them but a few gnarled trees and an old bench. No one's there to comment if they hold one another longer than strictly necessary.

Sirius finally releases Remus and makes his way to the bench, staring at the large pile of snow gathered upon it calculatingly before sweeping the largest amount of it off his side with one swipe of his arms. He plops down quickly, remaining snow immediately melting when confronted with his warm backside.

Remus observes this with an arched eyebrow, mouth quirked in amusement. He makes his way to the bench and studies the snow still piled on the other half. 'How is your family?' he asks measuredly, not looking at Sirius as he methodically dusts the snow from his own side.

Sirius snorts and launches into a grandiose tale of his and his brother's extravagant homecoming which included nothing but house elves and continued on to their family dinner, filled with praise for his younger brother and disappointed, snide comments for Sirius himself. The subject changes quickly to Remus' homecoming, touching briefly on his parents' loving reception and a quiet night reading before changing again to school and friends.

As they talk, an anxiousness creeps over Sirius, hands fidgeting with the edges of his scarf, teeth biting into his lower lip. He says nothing of what's bothering him, and if Remus notices, he pays it no mind. Slowly, the sun begins to set beyond the horizon and the boys part ways, promising to meet again in a few days.

* * *

Christmas dawns bright and cold, a new layer of snow coating everything around the city, glittering and fresh. Early afternoon finds the two boys nestled away inside the grove of trees on the bench, nursing travel cups of hot cocoa Remus had brought, thanking one another for the gifts they'd received that morning, and discussing the things they'd received from their other friends. Their talk turns to the dinner that will be waiting for them when they return to their respective homes. Sirius lingers on the puddings.

'I'm telling you, Moony,' he says in awe, 'you should see some of these things the elves make. They're … masterpieces.'

Remus chokes on a mouthful of cocoa, bending at the waist and spitting the hot liquid on the snow, staining the white ground brown. He coughs violently, clearing his airway of the remainder of the blockage. Sirius reaches over and pats Remus between his shoulder blades, attempting to help. At the touch, Remus jerks away, pushing himself backwards into the corner of the bench, staring at Sirius with wide, fearful eyes.

Sirius' brow furrows in confusion. 'Remus – ?'

'What did you call me?' interrupts Remus, panic surfacing in his tone and clouding his eyes.

'Remus, just – ' murmurs Sirius, reaching out a cautious hand towards his friend.

Remus does a spectacular twist and flips over the bench's armrest. He sways for a moment when his feet touch the ground, dizzy from his manoeuvre, before he continues to back away from Sirius. 'You know,' he says weakly. 'You know. _How_ do you _know_?' Sirius stands and reaches for him again, but Remus jumps further away and cries, 'No!'

His back hits the trunk of a tree and he sinks to the ground, tears marking tracks down his cheeks, his body shaking with suppressed sobs. Remus pulls his knees to his chest and buries his face in his arms, faint mumbles echoing through the thick fabric of his coat. 'You know, you know, you know, you know, you know … '

Sirius slowly moves towards Remus, snow crunching beneath his shoes. He doesn't try to touch the other boy again; just sinks down on the ground next to him and waits with more patience than he has ever exhibited before. Eventually, Remus falls silent, his sobs ceasing. He shifts his head, eyes peeking over his folded arms to glance at Sirius. His brown eyes are streaked red, face blotchy, salt water still smeared across his cheeks.

'You know,' he says again, voice hoarse and thick with tears, a whisper of acknowledgement, nothing more. He's calm now; resigned.

Sirius cocks his head to the side slightly, grey eyes soft. 'I know,' he confirms.

Remus shifts his head again, away from Sirius' steady gaze. 'Why are you still here?' he asks somberly. 'Why did you even come back?'

Sirius huffs. 'Why wouldn't I?'

Remus sits up straight and twists to face Sirius, frustration and despair evident in every movement he makes. 'Because I'm a monster!' he hisses harshly.

'You've never hurt me,' says Sirius, shrugging his shoulders, his very attitude as though they're discussing nothing more than the snow slowly freezing away their toes.

'I could!'

'You won't.'

Remus stares at his friend as though he's gone mad. Sirius stares back defiantly. Finally, Remus glances away and his shoulders hunch around his body. 'Sirius … you can't know that. Whether you want to believe it or not, I _am_ a monster. Once a month I'm a killer. I'm dangerous. You shouldn't be anywhere around me, ever. No one should … '

Sirius' eyes narrow. 'Remus,' he says. When Remus doesn't look at him, he scowls. 'Remus,' he says again, forcefully. Remus' eyes shift to meet Sirius'. 'Have you ever hurt anyone during your time of the month?' Remus glances away, but shakes his head in denial. 'Have you ever hurt anyone any other time?'

'Of course not!' cries Remus, whipping his head around quickly.

Sirius nods. 'You're not a monster, Rem,' he says. Remus turns his head away in shame. Sirius reaches his hand out and grabs Remus' chin between his thumb and forefinger, gripping it firmly and turning Remus' head back towards him. 'You're _not_.' Sirius' eyes grow soft again as Remus looks at anything but Sirius. 'Look, Remus, if I had any doubt at all of who you are, what kind of person you really are, do you think I'd be here right now?'

'Probably,' mumbles Remus without hesitation.

Sirius gapes. 'You're saying I'm thick?'

Remus' eyes shift to Sirius', a mischievous glint sparking deep within. 'Maybe.'

Sirius smirks. 'The only thing dangerous about you is your cheek.'

Remus offers him a small smile before he sighs. 'Peter and James?' he asks warily, glancing at Sirius from the corner of his eye.

Sirius snorts a laugh. 'They know,' he says, ignoring how Remus tenses again. 'James was the one who figured it out, the wanker. Came tearing into the dorm over a month ago while you were in the library one night. Should've seen him, Rem! His hair was more of a mess than usual – like, twenty birds living in it, I swear to Merlin – eyes wider than his glasses, panting like he'd just had an epic battle with Gilbert – '

'Who in Merlin's name is Gilbert?' interrupts Remus, eyebrows arched in bewilderment.

'Oh, that's right! I didn't tell you,' says Sirius, snapping his fingers, his entire being the picture of an 'aha' moment. 'I've decided to name the Giant Squid Gilbert. He seems to enjoy it.'

'Of course he does,' mumbles Remus, astonished eyes still locked on Sirius.

'Yes. Yes, he does,' says Sirius with a small nod. 'So, anyway, James races in – and like I said, you should've seen him; Absurd Potter, that's what I've taken to calling him – and he's panting and spitting out things about you and full moons and scars and stuff. Eventually, he calms down enough to tell us what he's talking about – because honestly, me and Pete were a bit lost – and it all made sense. Everything just sorta clicked into place.' Sirius notices Remus' downcast eyes and hurries to add, 'We were confused at first, you know? And then we got a bit miffed that you didn't tell us about it, like you didn't trust us or something, but that passed. Pete actually talked us down. But, you know, we never hated you or anything.' Remus glanced back up at him, brown eyes hopeful but reserved. 'You're our friend, Rem. We care about you.'

A full smile finally spreads across Remus' face and Sirius grins. 'Thanks, Sirius,' he murmurs.

Sirius continues to grin at his friend like a giddy child, something he doesn't do nearly enough in this place. He glances between them after a moment and seems to realise that he's still holding Remus' chin between his fingers. He drops his hand to the ground quickly and before Remus can say anything else, brings it back up and throws a puff of snow in his friend's face. Remus splutters, eyes batting against the cold, tongue darting out rapidly to clear his mouth of ice.

'What was that for?' he demands, shock showing through his snow-covered face.

'Snowball fight!' roars Sirius loudly as he leaps to his feet and bounds behind the cover of the bench, hurriedly gathering snow to create balls for his war. Remus chuckles and dives behind his tree, doing the same with his own pile of snow.

They play until it's time to return to their homes, throwing snowballs, creating snowmen armies, making snow angels that don't really look like angels at all. As they walk to the edge of the grove and begin to part ways, Sirius suddenly grabs Remus and pulls him in to a tight embrace.

'Happy Christmas, Moony,' he murmurs into the boy's ear.

A soft smile touches Remus' lips as he hugs Sirius back. 'Happy Christmas, Sirius.'

* * *

The months pass by and slowly turn into years, seasons blowing in and out with the wind. The boys continue to visit their bench every summer and winter, bringing with them new tales of boyhood pranks and shenanigans ('Did you _see_ Snivellus' face when he walked into the Great Hall coloured green and covered in orange polka dots?'), new love interests ('D'you think James'll ever stop mooning over Evans?' 'He's infatuated, Sirius. And Lily is a very lovely girl, besides.'), and schoolwork woes ('Have you finished your homework yet, Sirius?' 'Of course not, Moony. Have you _seen_ the things they want us to do? It's summer hols. There's no room for school during summer.').

The boys grow as the time passes, shedding their boyish features in exchange for more defined lines of muscles and sturdy jaw bones. One summer Remus arrives with the shadow of facial hair; Sirius picks and pokes at it. That winter, Sirius, too, has a new shadow; Remus leaves it alone. The old shyness retreats more and more as the years go by, replaced by trust and camaraderie, an ease of knowing one another more than too well.

There are signs of their existence scattered round the clearing, a mock shrine to their friendship and the first place they found true acceptance. The old gnarled tree that stands alone behind the bench holds scratches and carvings of names, initials, nicknames in its grey bark. There's an uneven patch of ground in front of the bench where the boys buried a special brick they had made while at school when they were twelve. Faint marks are present on one side of the bench's backrest where Remus had marked page numbers from books every time Sirius had distracted him or stolen his bookmark. A burn marks its place in the centre of the metal bench where Sirius had once fallen asleep with a cigarette hanging loosely from his fingers while Remus read him Poe's "The Sleeper".

Such things stay, rarely noticed by anyone else, rarely disturbed. They are simple curiosities to anyone who happens across them, nothing more. These things remain, even when the summer comes again and the boys do not.

* * *

Winter falls upon the city again and a dog has discovered the secluded bench. Its actions are habitual. It sniffs the ground, the bench, snuffs snow from its nose, and curls upon the snow-covered bench for hours, watching the surrounding trees, almost as though waiting for something. After an hour, it begins to tremble with cold. After three, it stands, stretches, and changes positions. By the time it leaves, well after the sun has set beyond the horizon and the moon is high and bright in the sky, its black fur is frosted with ice. It returns every day, following the same patterns, always watching, always waiting.

It's been almost two weeks and the dog's shoulders hunch more and more with every hour that passes. It no longer watches the trees, nor does it tense in expectation at the smallest sound; just stares at the white ground, almost as though seeing things that aren't really there. When the snow crunches nearby, the dog doesn't even blink, not until it crunches again and again and again, moving closer. It lifts its head and peers with narrowed eyes around the semicircle of trees, searching for the source of the noise, tail stiff and guarded behind its body.

The figure of a man appears in the shadow of the naked trees, body covered by a black woolen coat, arms crossed tightly across his chest, gloved hands tucked under arms. A knitted, knobby grey scarf winds itself around his neck and halfway up his face until it meets the edges of the matching hat, hiding all of his features except his brown eyes. The dog sits up quickly when it sees him, tail beginning to wag slightly before it stops it. The man stops when he sees the movement, eyes turning wary and body hunching around itself. Eventually, he sighs and makes his way to the bench, tugging his scarf away from his face as he sits, not even bothering to knock the snow away.

'I should have known you would be here,' says Remus softly, hands tucked deep inside his coat pockets. He stares straight ahead at the tree line, never looking at the dog. 'You know, I told myself that if you were, I wasn't going to stay. Why should I? I don't care how many times you've apologised, or how profusely; you don't deserve one word from me.' Remus sighs again, finally turning to look at the dog. 'But, of course, here you are, looking like that; you know no one can refuse Padfoot. I hate you for that.' Remus turns his face up to the winter sun, eyes closing. 'I hate you for a lot of things.'

The dog bows its head, a small whine escaping from its throat.

Remus lowers his head, eyes still closed as though blocking out the world; blocking out reality. 'I know you want me to forgive you, and a small part of me wants to, but … Snape – ' Remus' eyes open as he turns to look at the dog, filled with the pain of a thousand betrayals. 'Maybe you don't have any remorse for what could have happened to Snape, but do you even have any idea what would have happened to me if I had – ? ' He cuts himself off and swallows thickly, turning his head away again and staring at the line of trees with a hollow look in his eyes. 'I told you years ago that I was a monster. I don't think you ever really understood that. Maybe that's why you did this. Maybe that's reason enough for me to forgive you, but I just – I just need something _better_ than that, Sirius.' He stops, voice shaking, inhaling a deep breath to steady himself. 'I just need something – something I can hold on to, cover everything up with, to get me past this.'

The dog stares at Remus for a long while, studying his profile, light reflecting off the snow and catching the corners of his brown eyes, making them sparkle. It edges forward slowly, cautiously, waiting for a rebuff. When one doesn't come, it places its paw on Remus' leg before gently pressing its cold nose into Remus' cheek. It pulls back slightly after a moment and quickly, tenderly, swipes its tongue across the same cheek. Remus' head snaps round, eyes large and surprised. There's a shift and Sirius is sitting in place of the dog, knees pressed into the snow, face beside Remus'. His hands move up to grip the sides of Remus' face, mouth moving forward to press his lips against Remus'. As Remus begins to respond to the kiss, Sirius' fingers slide up under the edges of Remus' knit hat to tangle in his hair, his body leaning forward, pushing the other boy back into the corner of the bench as his arms wrap around Sirius' back, clinging to the boy's coat.

Snow begins to fall as they part, panting, Remus still shocked and very rumpled. Sirius stares at him for a long moment, breathing still heavy and eyes pleading.

'I love you,' he finally whispers, snow melting and running down his cheeks. Remus' look of bafflement disappears, replaced by a soft confusion. 'And I don't care how fucking sappy it sounds when I say that I wouldn't survive if I lost you. I was an idiot and I didn't think about what I was doing until it was already done and I'm _sorry_, Remus, I'm so – '

Remus lunges forward before Sirius can finish, pushing him backwards and pressing their lips together again and again and again. Snow continues to fall, gathering around them like the softest of blankets.

* * *

The days swirl away the snow and before long, summer arrives again. The boys – men, now – come by from time to time and lounge in the warm sun, kisses and whispered words stolen away from the prying eyes of the world. Their visits are shorter now, and fewer between, but more special than they ever have been before. Yet, all too soon, the chill of autumn invades the city again and it is time for them to depart.

Time passes by slower than ever before, leaves clinging to branches longer than they should before letting go. There's a sense of anticipation hanging around the bench like a never before.

Soon enough, however, winter blows in on the wind, fierce and cold as ever. Sirius returns, leather jacket wrapped snugly around his torso to block out the chill. He sits upon the snow-covered bench, boots scuffing their way through snow as he swings them, his legs no longer short enough for his feet to dangle. He whistles an edgy, off-tune song to himself as his eyes roam the clearing, lighting on all the various places where he and Remus exist in some form. A small smile pulls at his chapped lips.

'Sirius?' calls Remus' voice beyond the trees.

Sirius' head jerks up. 'I'm here, Moony,' he shouts back. A moment later, Remus emerges through the trees and a grin splits Sirius' face.

Sirius bounds away from the bench and pounces on Remus, arms winding around his waist as he presses him back against the nearest tree, mouths connecting fiercely. Remus makes a surprised noise at first, but quickly hums in appreciation as his fingers thread through Sirius' long hair. Sirius' hands wander aimlessly across Remus' back, eventually pushing under coat and shirt, fingers sliding below Remus' waistband.

Remus hisses at the cold touch and finally pulls away from Sirius, chuckling at Sirius' grumbles when Remus places his fingers back over cloth. 'As much as I'm enjoying this, Pads,' he says with a lopsided smile, 'what are we doing here? I thought you were in Florence with the Potters?'

Sirius sighs as he leans in to snuffle at Remus' neck. 'I was, and I'm going back,' he says, warm breath ghosting across Remus' sensitive skin. Remus twitches and Sirius huffs a laugh, causing him to twitch more. 'I just wanted to give you your Christmas present in person.' He pulls away, arms sliding from around Remus' waist as his hands dig through his pockets, eventually emerging with a small red box tied with a gold ribbon which he offers to Remus.

Remus accepts the package with tentative hands, eyes studying the box in wonderment, fingers sliding over the silk ribbon reverently. He glances up at Sirius questioningly and Sirius flaps his hands nervously, urging him to open it. He exhales a small breath as he pulls at one end of the ribbon gently, the bow falling loose easily, fabric slipping like spider silk across the skin of his hand. He tugs the top of the box off, fingers delving in and pushing the tissue wrapping away, emerging with a small silver key.

Remus stares at the key in puzzlement, eyes glancing to Sirius questioningly, fingers gliding over the smooth edges. Sirius doesn't answer right away, hand rubbing at the back of his neck nervously, silver eyes refusing to meet Remus', simply staring at his long fingers wrapped around the key.

Finally, he coughs awkwardly, and says, 'You know I got that money from Uncle Alphard.' Remus nods in confusion. 'Yeah, well, since I got it, I've been looking round for a flat, because I can't stay with the Potters forever, even if they'd probably let me.'

'All right,' says Remus slowly.

Sirius swallows, a small, nervous smile spreading across his face. 'I found one before we went back to school,' he mumbles, kicking at the snow with his toe. At Remus' raised eyebrows, he adds quickly, 'It's a brilliant place, Moony. Top floor, only one neighbour at the other end of the hall – and she's old, besides, so she probably can't hear anything – no mould or pests or holes in the walls. It's got loads of Muggle things that I don't know _anything_ about, which is ace. And it's got two bedrooms, which is great if Pete or James and Lily ever want to pop in for a kip, though I'll probably have to burn the mattress when Prongs and Evans leaves … '

Remus nods slowly, fingers still clinging to the key, eyes still confused. 'All right,' he repeats.

Sirius' brow furrows. 'C'mon, Moony, don't make me say it.' At Remus' blank look, Sirius huffs and says, 'Fine.' He steps forward, cold hands grazing against Remus' stubble-rough jaw tenderly. 'Remus Lupin, this is your key. A key which I would like you to use every day, especially when you move all your things in, which means I would like you to move in with me, which means I would like you to share my bed and make me breakfast and maybe sometimes I'll make you breakfast and then we can sit on the sofa and you can read to me while I pretend to listen but really fall asleep and then you can kiss me awake.'

Remus' mouth gapes open as he stares at Sirius in shock, pale skin biting into the key as his fist clenches around it. Sirius stands in awkward anticipation, feet shuffling beneath him, teeth biting into his cheek nervously.

When a full minute passes and Remus doesn't say anything, Sirius hedges, 'So, Rem, um … anything particularly important spinning through that head of yours?'

Remus blinks and focuses on Sirius, an odd glimmer entering his brown eyes. 'It depends … ' he says carefully.

Sirius swallows. 'It does?' he asks. 'On what?'

'Can I have a bookshelf?' he says, the corner of his mouth quirking.

Sirius exhales a large breath, relieved laughter threading through it. He leans forward, pressing their mouths together, more laughter spilling from between their joined lips and mingling together until they can't tell whose is whose.

Foreheads pressed together, lips still grazing as they move, Sirius murmurs, 'You can have anything you want. I bloody well love you, Remus.'

Remus grins, inhaling a slow, deep breath. 'I love you, too, Sirius.'

Slowly, the last winter of their childhood melts away into new life, terrifying endings, and hopeful beginnings. Perhaps they visit the bench again in the years to follow; perhaps they don't. Regardless, the place belongs to them; they're names signed in more ways than even they know. It'll remain, should ever they return. And so it goes.


End file.
